


Aquaman Origins

by Vodka112



Series: Earth-P (Pendulum) [3]
Category: DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Other, if you squint its cheating/adultery, if you squint there's mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-22
Updated: 2017-03-22
Packaged: 2018-10-09 04:03:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10403511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vodka112/pseuds/Vodka112
Summary: Being King is an honor his clansmen had been awarded with since the time Atlantis sunk into the ocean. Princess Mera, as she is lovingly called, had taken a respite in the guise of visiting the four other underwater kingdoms and offering a hand of alliance. Mattathia can see her now, glowing spots marking her beautiful black leathery skin, her fins extending spearlike all around her and her lips stretched in a snarl that so many atlanteans love. She will return victorious.Instead of waiting for her to come home, as he had promised when he declined her invitation to join the expedition, Mattathia is breaking every known law in Atlantean ethics and communication with humans. WIP





	

**Author's Note:**

> My own spin to the origins of Aquaman based on what I read on JLA comics. Very AU. Also porny. Follows the same AU as Pendulum and, in a way, Stranded. Written to take it out of my head and straighten out some plot lines.
> 
> There's adultery if you squint. There's pregnancy if you squint. There's hermaphrodism(?) if you squint. Has eggs. Lotsa hetero porn. Eh. So many warnings. Unbeta-ed.

Once, some twenty years ago, an atlantean came out of the shores of California. He has translucent skin that glistens like the sea. His face is long and gaunt, and his nose, a small curious thing on his face. His eyes are black as blackest night and his pupils contract to proper human size.

He has no hair. He has no clothes.

There is a lovely couple who gave him spare clothes and some paper human currency. Mattathia gives them the human expression of gratitude, the smile. He stretches his lips widely, showing off his pointy teeth, before parting ways. 

This is going well, he thought to himself as he baked on a rock by the shore, eating some icy cold confection. Absolutely bizarre. Do all humans subsist on such meager rations? Atlanteans do prize a cold drink every now and again, but to reduce one’s palate to a singular non-sustaining thing. Quite unheard of.

That’s when he got a whiff of some sweet thing, not the kind of sweetness the thing in his hands are. That one smells of blood and flesh. Absolutely succulent. 

Mattathia moves from his rock to follow the scent. It leads him to a small construction. Another curious thing. None of the constructs have tunnels leading to and from their dwellings. Humans swarm this particular dwelling, their body smelling of the salt of the sea. Delicious.

He clicks his tongue. He knows he should’ve brought some salted fish with him from the kitchens. Worry over getting caught has overpowered his senses and he forgot to feed himself. Typical Mattath.

The land walkers arrange themselves in a line of a serpentine fashion. Mattathia stands with them and moves as they moved. The humans look incredulously up at him and the younger humans blush. Mattathia doesn’t mind. The air breathers are easily a fin smaller than him. It’s a good thing they called the land their home for if they went to sea…

The line has pushed Mattathia to the head and he comes face to face with a comely human with the skin of bronze and eyes of the ocean. The not-fins on the top of their head are kept with a string away from the face, cascading in dark waves on their back, and when the sun shines on them, it glows gold.

The land dweller says something to him. Mattathia tries the smile but the human makes an irritated face at him. Thank Poseidon the humans adopted nearly the same general expressions of distaste as the atlanteans. The human points at the selection of charred remains of fish, spiced and sauced, in a glass case. 

Perhaps they want some currency? That will make this construct a shop and not a dwelling! Mattathia thinks to himself. He reaches into his pockets, say nothing of the ingenious piece of human clothing, and pulls out his meager currency. He gives it to the human’s waiting hands. They count the round metal disks, the knot on their face getting deeper by the moment. Then they sigh. Their sea-filled eyes seem to gouge Mattathia to his core.

They crook a finger at him and he leans forward over the glass, eager to obey. Then they grab his clothing, quick as an eel, and put their lips upon his. They are soft and smell slightly of something sweet and plant-like. Like the sweetness of those human plants the atlanteans cultivated in the laboratories, surrounded by the glow of lava rocks. 

The human pulls back and hands him some flesh speared by a stick.

“Have the right change for me next time, handsome,” the human says and they shoo Mattathia away. The next human complains about his gift before being put to place by the human behind the glass. Mattathia goes back to his rock.

He had been careful not to induce the Right of Language during his brief expedition. It will make it difficult when a delegation of humans come in contact with Atlantis and Mattathia had to pretend he doesn’t understand them. He scratches the side of his neck. He feels weird without his gills.

On the other fin, the meat spitted with a flimsy spear is as succulent as the fishmeats back home. Not as delectable as the rarest of flesh, but the dressing. There is a spice that made his mouth burn like poison but didn’t curdle his blood. There is also the fragrant smell, plant-like again, that makes the meat sweet and palatable. After the initial momentary panic, he finishes the meal in three quick gulps.

Then he is left with his hunger once again. He sighs.

* * *

Being King of Atlantis is a heavy burden carried by the most ancient of atlantean bloodlines. He is tasked with the continuation of the line and the heritage of his people. He is tasked with the management of the home and the domestic inquiries of his kingdom. He is tasked with keeping the coffers full and the cold rooms stocked with meat and kelp. He is also tasked with never venturing outside the city walls for the decade the Eggs take to hatch.

The last is Mattathia’s only reason for traveling to the world above. He is to wed Princess Meradekesh before her crowning as Queen. After her coronation and their wedding, they will be in isolation deep within Atlantis to rear as many progeny as they can for a decade. Then Mattathia will be crowned King of Atlantis.

He doesn’t mind it much. Being King is an honor his clansmen had been awarded with since the time Atlantis sunk into the ocean. But he is also a hunter at heart, like the Princess though not as skillful, and roaming the ocean floor has been their shared past time. To give up this adventurous spirit for a decade is a huge burden for both of them to bear. Princess Mera, as she is lovingly called, had taken a respite in the guise of visiting the four other underwater kingdoms and offering a hand of alliance. Mattathia can see her now, glowing spots marking her beautiful black leathery skin, her fins extending spearlike all around her and her lips stretched in a snarl that so many atlanteans love. She will return victorious.

Instead of waiting for her to come home, as he had promised when he declined her invitation to join the expedition, Mattathia is breaking every known law in Atlantean ethics and communication with humans.

“Nngh! You can do better than that, Mat! Put your back into it!” The female beneath him whines and he pushes into her with more force. The sounds of their flesh is loud in the tiny room and in his lust, Mattathia suckles on her reddened nipples. Mera will never grow those. Their eggs won’t need milk to sustain them.

He bites her shoulder, an atlantean habit. He imagines filling her channel with his seed, of it taking root in this wonderful creature of the world above. Nothing but a flip of fancy. Atlantean seed is only fertile during mating season.

She is tight and soft around him, contradicting observations. He pushes in one last time after she lets out a wet gasp and her channel clings ever so sweetly. He feels his release take over his body and he keeps them tied for as long as he can manage.

She shivers when he pulls out and he has learned to gather the cloths around them to cover her. Humans are terribly susceptible to the environment and this particular one burns during coitus and turns cold as ice immediately afterwards. She burrows into his arm, seeking the meager heat he can supply and he runs a hand through her dark curly hair. It shines like gold in the sunlight.

She sleeps like a child when he comes back with warm wet towels. He remembered her having a preference for such things after coitus. He loathes to wake her.

“Yuliana, I’ve fetched your towels,” Mattathia says. Her eyes open like slits and he thinks he’s being glared at. She huffs and grabs the cloths before striding towards the bathroom. Her naked form is quite entrancing and Mattathia gulps at the sight of her wet rear. He can already feel himself burning for her.

She stops by the door. “Are you coming in?” 

He nods and follows after her.

* * *

Yuliana has taught him much about the human heritage, in the guise of helping him understand American culture. She has taught him ways to discern the human female from the male, which Mattathia feels grateful for. The females of atlantean society are easily twice the size of the males. Princess Mera is three times as big as Mattathia and he is one of the few bigger-sized males. It’s fascinating how humans discern gender through the clothes they weave around them and how long or styled their ‘hair’ are.

Yuliana has also given him a thorough lesson on the properties of human milk bags and reproductive organs. She squirms wonderfully when Mattathia tastes and licks her tits. She cries loudly when he suckles the slick from her core. Then she trembles as he brings her to completion, flooding his mouth, his tongue, his senses with her essence. She keeps on trembling as Mattathia licks and suckles her into coming in quick succession till she whines and pulls him away from her.

She thinks he’s another human visiting from another country and he hasn’t disabused her of the notion. If she catches him looking at her with longing in his eyes, she doesn’t say a word. 

Mattathia is tempted to run away from the ocean, to live his unnaturally long life with this human. An impossibility, with how his heart burns for the cool waters of Atlantis. Mating season must be close at hand. He needs to return.

Yuliana clings to him that night and their lovemaking takes a decidedly aggressive turn. Mattathia spares not an inch of her shoulders from his teeth and imprints his fingertips on the bronze skin of her hips. She, in turn, bites his lip hard enough to bleed and claws his back. He can feel it burning when she turns him over and bounces over him, her movements pushing him against the cloths of the bed. She howls when she comes and he howls with her. Then they roll over and start anew.

The sun shines on her hair splayed over Mattathia’s chest. He breathes in her plant-like scent.

* * *

“By Poseidon and Hera, where did you learn to do that?” Mera gasps. Mattathia can see her gills flap twice as fast. He puts his mouth on her cloaca again, ever careful not to pierce her with his many teeth, and licks at her core. His tongue is longer and more agile in this form and it takes him half the time to bring Mera over the edge.

“Do I have to worry about any heirs you may have spawned?” Mera asks him later, after he brought her over again and she rode him to completion three times. 

“No, my love. There is only you and our many future children,” Mattathia answers. He tries not to think of the human with dark hair that glows in the sun, brown skin marked with spots, and eyes that carry the breadth of the sea. Sometimes, he succeeds. When his children hatch from their eggs, he may finally have the chance to forget her.

* * *

Julie’s joints has been aching since last evening. The weather has turned for the worse and the rain pounds on her windows as the sea storm turns inland. She can hear the waves crashing on the shore outside. She rubs her knuckles before lighting up the candle of her pantheon. She sends a prayer of worship and query to Poseidon before starting her morning routine. 

Her husband is missing at sea for almost a year now. The last time she saw him is when she sent him off with a blessing of Poseidon around his neck. 

At around midday, she bakes a fish cake good enough for six people. One part she keeps for herself, another she burns, and the rest she garnishes with laurel leaves and offers to the altar.

She’s eating lunch, a simple meal of fish soup, when she hears a distant wail. It’s a sound like a cat makes when its mad. Lightning flashes through her windows and thunder rumbles through her walls. There’s that cry again, angrier now. It sounds close as well, as if right outside Julie’s front door. She takes her biggest knife from the drawers and pulls the door open.

There is a woven fish basket sitting on her front deck. Julie looks around her towards the raging sea and the wild wind carrying the rain inside her home. Another lightning strikes someplace far out the sea and the cloths in the fish basket shifts with a high-pitched whine. Julie stares at it incredulously before nudging the basket into her home and shutting the door on the cold storm.

She puts the knife down and tugs the cloth to the side with shaking hands. There’s a baby in there, with huge fat tears rolling down its crabapple face.

“Oh, shh. Shhh. Everything’s going to be alright, little one. Don’t you worry,” Julie says as she lifts the baby from the basket. “You’re wet! We can’t let you stay wet now, can we? C'mon, let’s get you dried up.”

She spends the next hour attempting to swaddle the devious thing. The baby had whined, pleaded and even screamed when she took him from the warm water bath she put up. When she had finally made the baby sit still with a bottle of warmed, honeyed milk, the storm is already gone. 

The baby must be the handsomest baby she has ever seen, with a nice round face and clear blue eyes. His hair is light like spun gold and his skin is like copper. He has a laughter of small pealing bells as he watches her struggling with moping the water that got into her home. Julie is puzzled at how anyone could ever abandon a baby in a storm. At her front door, too! She lives some good distance from the village and the resort beaches. No one can be up and about just to put a baby on her doorstep. She resolves to call the baby in to the police tomorrow, just in case someone claims him.

It is around nighttime when she settled him down in a makeshift bed that she noticed her altar. The fishcakes are gone and in its place is a strand of broken seashell necklace. 

Julie can’t move. She can’t even breathe. Her hands move to touch the necklace. It breaks apart in her grip and turns to ashes. 

“No!” she wails.

She jerks awake from napping on the sofa with her face drenched with tears and the baby boy settled on her chest. She frantically looks for the altar, her eyes drawn to the fishcakes still on their plate and standing exactly where she left them.

Her heart is hammering against her chest. She settles the baby down on the couch surrounded by pillows on the outside. She approaches the altar. She takes one look at the statue of Poseidon before throwing the cakes and the ceremonial plate into the brick fireplace. She cries long and hard as the cakes turn to char.

* * *

These days, she doesn’t pray for Poseidon’s blessing of safe voyage above the sea. She’s praying for her son’s safety in it instead.

Arthur, as she has lovingly given him her deceased husband’s second name, has grown from an adventurous child to an equally adventurous young man. He has been disappearing a lot lately. She thinks he might be diving by the cliffs again. A true child of the sea. He never tires of swimming, diving or playing with the fishes. He can swim farther into the sea than anyone she knew and can still swim back to the shore. More than once has he sprayed her with water when she drew close by the docks, laughing all the while.

His hair has turned from gold to something dark that shines in the sunlight. His eyes are as blue as the ocean, sometimes dark as a storm and sometimes clear as calm sea. Her son of bronze. He is her pride and joy.

So imagine her surprise when she sees him in his swim trunks fighting what looks like a kraken on tv. The news anchor is talking about the hero who subdued the monstrous thing with almost nothing but a bat on the nose. It has been about to attack a cruise ship.

He gives the camera a wave and a smile before diving back into the ocean. The news anchor keeps on calling him Aquaman. She turns off the tv with a sigh.

She prays to Poseidon to keep her son safe and then bakes some crab cakes for when he comes back. He’ll tell her about it when he’s ready.

* * *

“I’m sorry, my friends, but it cannot be done,” Mattathia says. The JLA has been trying to shut down the pockets of Reach colonies deep in the ocean. But whenever they close one, the Reach opens another further into the ocean floor. Mattathia himself has purged the Reach from his empire but the four other underwater kingdoms hasn’t seen fit to remove the parasites. With the Reach breaking up peace within the ocean, the five kingdoms are close to being in war. 

“I cannot risk the neutrality of the empire,” he finishes.

Batman looks at him intently for a second before standing. “Perhaps we should call a friend,” he says. He moves towards the door and opens it. 

A young human walks in with a dark head of hair and the most unfortunate pair of swimming cloths. He has no top, showing off his brown and scarred skin. His eyes turn as dark as the depths of the sea when he stares at Mattathia, making the King’s leathery skin crawl.

“Meet Aquaman,” Batman says. He goes back to his seat, offering the child the one next to him. Aquaman declines, holding up a hand and shaking his head. 

“I’m only staying for a bit. Its not just humans who need help in this world,” he says as he squares his shoulders to look at each of the JLA members. They gaze up at him with various shades of distrust, awe, and indulgence.

“Of course,” Superman says. He’s smiling at the boy sincerely. “Batman said you have a solution for us. Have you been informed about the situation?”

“He has,” Batman says. He turns to boy and waves a hand towards the meeting table. “The floor is yours, Aquaman.”

He nods. “My informants showed me the location of the Reach’s underwater colonies and laboratories, all two hundred of them. They are willing to destroy the colonies but they want specific somethings out of their trouble.”

“What do they want?” Batman prompted. 

“Its quite varied,” Aquaman says, his brow furrowing. “The Mermaids wanted human sacrifices every year but I’ve talked them down to getting shark hunters out of their area. The rest of the pacific wants trawlers and resort owners out of their beaches and reefs. The arctic wants some help keeping their bears happy. Antartica wants to be left alone. The Indian ocean wants to open trade with humans closest to them. Everyone wants to ban oil ships, and by everyone, I meant the fish.”

Batman’s brow crossed or it looked like he was trying. His cowl is too thick to change shape. “That’s a pretty long list.”

“I know. You have no idea what kinds of complaints I have to listen to everyday, or how many there are,” Aquaman sighs. “Everyone and their favorite fin has a thing of two to say about human trash and they can get really creative with their cursing.”

“You commune with creatures of the sea?” Mattathia asks the boy incredulously.

“Yeah. Aquaman, right? You know, on tv? They tried to call me fish-whisperer but thank The Pantheon that didn’t stick,” the boy replies. Then he blinks at Mattathia. 

“Oh, right. Atlantean,” he said lowly, a series of clicks that had Mattathia’s spinal fins flaring out in aggressive display.

“Yes, I am the King of Atlantis,” Mattathia clicked back. He stood up to his full height, a good head taller than the boy. Aquaman crossed his arms over his chest and huffed.

“Yeah, yeah. The King of the Lost Empire. I’ve got a beef with you, too, you know? The creatures in your area are terrified about the prospect of war between the Five Kingdoms. Why haven’t you sent any envoys to promote peace?” Aquaman asked.

“Queen Meradekesh is touring with an envoy of a hundred atlanteans.”

“But isn’t she as huge as a truck? All that’s doing is making the rest of the kingdoms nervous. Why don’t you come with them? You look like a nicer bloke, less deadly scary.”

“The place of an Atlantean King is in Atlantis. I cannot go and leave the city with neither King or Queen.”

“What do you think they’re doing now then? You’re dirt side.”

Mattathia shows off his teeth. “My eldest daughter is keeping the school together.”

“As she should be. That’s Atlantean custom, right? To pass on the power to the eldest female in the family. But while she’s doing that, you should’ve been with the Queen’s envoy, instead of topside.”

“Do not presume to know the intricacies of Atlantean court, human,” Mattathia hisses.

The JLA stands up together, making a wall between Mattathia and the boy.

“What have I said about picking fights?” Batman scolds Mattathia.

“What were you talking about?” Mattathia can hear Wonder Woman ask the boy from the other side of the room.

“He has spoken ill of the empire,” Mattathia replies. He’s having a hard time retracting his spinal fins.

“He’s also less than twenty years old and you’re practically an elder,” Batman snaps back. “We need him on our side. Are you sure you want to alienate the superhuman who can talk to all fish?”

Aquaman makes his way through the wall and in front of Mattathia. He smells of the salt of the sea and some plant-like sweetness. 

“I didn’t mean to insult you,” he says and Mattathia’s fins fold behind his back. There is a force behind his words, something soothing and strong all at once. It’s hard to deny his voice. “I just wanted to let you know the rest of the water hates your guts. If you’d just throw a party every once in a while–”

Mattathia leapt at the boy.

* * *

He has apologized thoroughly, but Batman still bans him from the JLA meetings involving Aquaman.

The boy isn’t wrong and when Mera comes back, he tells her about the encounter.

“I have thought as such. Perhaps I shall bring Gidomash-et. He’s the handsomest of our sons,” Mera says, paying no attention to Mattathia’s swollen eye.

“And Tati. She’ll go where Domash goes.”

“Very well. How about you, Mattath? What will you do?”

Mattathia’s lips curl with spite. “Hosting a party.”

* * *

The party is a success, despite the surprise Reach attack. The dome was filled with glittering scales and leather ranging from the vibrant shallow sea mer to the transparency of deeper ocean mer. They are enjoying themselves, gorging on Atlantis’ fish meat and kelp while some underground funnels keep blasting water around and out of the dome.

The guests started out wary and vigilant. Now they are as spry as fresh hatchlings. Their small victory against the Reach attack boosts the gaiety to some hitherto unknown heights. Some of the most vicious kingdoms’ envoy has snacked on the corpses, to the disgust of the rest, but that doesn’t diminish the fun.

Aquaman appears right at the end. He stays long enough to converse telepathically with his friends before going away. Such crudity from a boy so young. Mattathia doesn’t mind. He has seen the way his daughters’ eyes lit up when the boy entered the dome. They circle around him like sharks, coming ever closer. There are fifteen of them in attendance, the youngest is close to 10 planetary cycles old.

The guests are shown to their quarters last thing that night, and into their chosen travel accommodations in the late morning. A good time is had by all. 

END


End file.
